False Dice
by Serenity V
Summary: "Marry, once before he won it of me with false dice." Benedick wasn't the man Beatrice had thought he was, yet she was well. He hadn't meant to hurt her, so she wouldn't blame him for it. She would forgive, but she would not forget. She'd hold him at arm's length where he belonged. Interpretation based on Tate/Tennant production.
1. Act 1

**A.N.:** _Beatrice's speech to Don Pedro about Benedick winning her heart with "false dice" is generally taken to mean that he broke her heart, but in the Tate/Tennant production, they seemed to get along too well for that interpretation to hold water; all their teasing, even from the beginning, seemed in good fun rather than with any real heat behind it. This is an exploration of the sort of incident Tate's Beatrice might be referring to - painful enough to make her wary of Benedick (and love) but mild enough that they could still have a good camaraderie afterward._

 _Set several years before the play._

* * *

 _ **Act I**_

* * *

 **Scene I** \- _A Room in Leonato's House._

 _Enter Hero and Beatrice, dressing._

 _Beat._ Troth, coz, I think your other rabato were better.

 _Hero._ Say you so? Ought I to change them, think you?

 _Beat._ I would not so, but do you what you like.

 _Hero._ Wherefore not change, if t'other were better?

 _Beat._ Marry, you'd change to catch the eye of some  
Signior - with face and wits best suited to  
A babe- who with Don Pedro and his fellows  
Revels with us in Messina tonight  
In celebration of their victr'y late.  
But, mark, what do you once he's caught but wed?  
And then, a husband gained, lose what you sought,  
For, like a spider tangled up and starved  
In its own web, you'll waste away,  
Never again the object of a man's hot gaze,  
But unremarked forevermore, therefore,  
My pretty coz, it were not wise to change.

 _Hero._ Save by my husband unremarked, you mean,  
Which, by my troth, coz, will content me well.

 _Beat._ Nay, nor by him, for nothing in this world  
Is found so tiresome as a spouse, once had.

 _Hero._ If marriage is so dull, I wonder then  
Why you so rush for't with such goodly cheer;  
For while you mock them so, methinks there's one  
Among the men come to Messina that  
E'en your sharp wit looks on with some measure  
Of favour, for I've seen, while it may prick,  
'Twill draw no blood from Signior Benedick.

 _Beat._ Ha! Faith, his wit will bleed before his time  
Here in Messina is run out. For though,  
Unlike his fellows, he has wit enough  
To see without being worn in's cap, as though  
To show a difference 'twixt himself and's horse,  
E'en this soldier's defense, mark, is not proof  
'Gainst all assay that I can bring to bear.  
 _[Aside.]_ And yet, in this, does my good coz say well,  
For scarcely would I trust myself, though I  
Had sworn to live a maid of Dian's band,  
Were Signior Benedick to ask my hand.

 _Enter Ursula._

 _Urs._ What keeps you here? The hour is come, and now  
Begin the revels. Both of you are sought.

 _Hero._ Good cousin Beatrice, be kind to me  
And answer truly, pray - Ought I to change?

 _Beat._ Fret not, sweet cousin Hero. By my troth,  
You are as fair as ever - let's go in.

 _Exeunt._

* * *

 **Scene II** \- _Leonato's Garden._

 _Enter Benedick and 2 Gentlemen, drinking and laughing._

 _1 Gent._ You will excuse me, sir, an if this tale  
Is one too hard for me to stomach.

 _Bene._ Nay, believe't! For, by this hand, 'tis true.

 _2 Gent._ That when you asked of Lady Beatrice  
A measure of sugar, with vinegar she  
Then half drowned you? In faith, how may this be?

 _Bene._ Marry, when I with honeyed words, did look  
To get from her as sweet an answer,  
She spewed forth such a sea of vinegar  
That I was nearly drowned withal!

 _1 Gent._ Ha! A fitting end, methinks, for Signior Taunt  
To die by woman's words. I like it well.

 _Bene._ Nay, mock not, mock not, for you've no grounds.  
If by a woman I must die, I would  
Be drowned by this fair maiden's spleen before  
The tears of weeping wenches like the one  
That hangs on you and sighs and sobs she loves.

 _1 Gent._ 'Tis well you say so, for your chance to do't  
Appears. Your lovely Lady Spleen now comes.

 _Enter Beatrice._

 _Beat._ O, this likes me not, for came I forth from  
The smothered confines of the hall in search  
Of fresher air, only to find it thus  
Polluted with the noisome breath of one  
That spews forth what he takes for cleverness.

 _Bene._ What, my dearest Lady Wit! How do you  
This fine evening?

 _Beat._ In faith, my lord, much better than before,  
For wit is ne'er so merry but when in  
The presence of some fool to sharpen it.

 _Bene._ Ay, that is true; 'tis why I was so glad  
To see you come, for I can little sport  
Derive from these, men wise enough to know  
Their foolishness,and so make no assay  
That's worth the thwarting, but you, good lady, think  
To charge your wit 'gainst mine in the career,  
And to unhorse one proud as you were victory indeed.

 _Beat._ Ay, 'twere victory indeed, if you could do't. -  
But, faith, good sirs, what make you from the revels held within?

 _1 Gent._ I'faith - _  
_ _2 Gent._ Good maid -

 _Bene._ Cannot you see? Our better here without!

 _Beat._ Better for fools, perhaps. That can I see.

 _Bene._ Why, then, 'tis meet you came to join us.

 _Beat._ Yea, for so I may save you from yourselves.

 _Bene._ Indeed. Ere your arrival, we three had  
Too much good sense, by far, among us shared.

 _Beat._ Yea, that can I believe, for these good lords  
Had sense too much to leave you to your own  
Foolish devices; that's sense enough to gall  
You for want of mischief and, what's more,  
Grieve them for want of good society;  
That's sense too much by far. But, I come here  
With sense greater than all your three together;  
That's sense enough to leave you. - So, farewell.

 _Bene._ You go so soon, and will not stay to laugh?  
For never did I think to be outwitted  
By a stale - and yet, 'tis even so.  
What nunnery teaches such valiant wit?

 _Beat._ You must forgive me, sir.

 _Bene._ Sweet Beatrice, what offense?

 _Beat._ In sooth, I mistook you for another.

 _Bene._ O, what's he?

 _Beat._ An honourable man, one that a maid  
Might jest withal in merriment, and yet  
Need fear no slander, though she best him.  
But, as I am a maid - for so I am,  
Though you may think not so - I now do fear  
That no such man doth live, and I was but  
Mistaken all this while. And so, go to.  
I leave you.

 _Exit Beatrice._

 _Bene._ Mark you, she seemed to part with choler true,  
Not like her wonted jests. I fear lest that  
I left my tongue too far ungovernéd.

 _2 Gent._ It is an honest man that calls a stale  
A stale, like he that deals in spades.

 _Bene._ And as for him that calls a maid a stale?

 _2 Gent._ Why, that were slander!

 _Bene._ A charge, for all my taunts, I never thought  
To lay upon my soul - and 'gainst that maid  
I least would wish to hurt, though most to jest  
Withal. And yet, believe't, I meant it not  
But held it jest; most plain 'tis she did not,  
And so, farewell. I leave you, sirs, for I've  
No stomach more for merriment this night.

 _Exit Benedick._

 _1 Gent._ I'faith, I've never seen him sober till tonight.

 _2 Gent._ Nor I. Indeed, he sure is much distressed;  
But leave him to't. I'm for the revels, will you come?

 _1 Gent._ Yea, friend, lead on.

 _Exeunt._

* * *

 **Scene III** \- _A Room in Leonato's House._

 _Enter Beatrice and Hero._

 _Hero._ I know this talk to be a lie. Say now  
Whate'er you will of men, but fair of late  
Has Signior Benedick been in your eye.

 _Beat._ O, by this day, there nothing has been in  
Mine eye but dust, which now flushed out, once more  
I see aright. Until men are composed  
Of some high mettle, better than gross earth,  
I'll never love, but count them all as dust,  
Scarce worth the noting. Go on, sweet cousin,  
Content yourself. I'll be poor company tonight,  
But left to myself, thus to sort out myself,  
You'll see me mended on the morrow.

 _Hero._ Poor coz, I wish it may be so. Goodnight.

 _Exit Hero._

 _Beat._ I wish so too. A stale! I thought to meet  
Sharp wit, not sland'rous lies. - And yet, I do  
Not blame the rogue, for now, my choler cooled,  
Methinks he spoke unthinkingly, as one  
Come to a fencing match, forgetting that  
He left his foil untipped. There's sure no honor  
in that he said, nor in the man could say't,  
And yet, he's not to blame. Faith, he is not  
the man I thought him t'be, yet I am well.  
For now I know him what he is, so can  
I hold him as: A merry fool, one good  
To jest withal, but to be wary of  
For like an overeager hound, will bite  
Not knowing or forgetting he has teeth.

 _Exit Beatrice._


	2. Act II

**A.N.:** _This "act" takes place during the play, and examines certain moments through the lense provided by the previous chapter. It would be helpful, though not necessary, to be familiar with the play because some parts will be based on fairly specific lines._

* * *

 _ **Act II**_

* * *

 **Scene I** \- _A Room in Leonato's House._

 _Enter Benedick, after his exit in Act I, Scene I._

 _Bene._ O, "I know you of old." Ha! Says she so?  
I see, marry, know me of old she doth,  
But will not know me new! "Always end with  
A jade's trick?" I? Yea, once and only once,  
I said to her a thing that I should not,  
Yet, since that night, I've never breathed a word  
But that is true, even in jest! Perhaps  
She looked for sugared words or sought a grand  
Apology, but the more fool she -  
Words are but cheap. In every silent word,  
Whene'er I held my tongue, I gave her deeds.  
Nay, I'll talk not of her; she makes me mad!  
Forget her, Benedick, and get you to  
Her uncle as the Prince and Claudio bade.

 _Exit Benedick._

* * *

 **Scene II** \- _A Room in Leonato's House._

 _Enter Beatrice, after her exit in Act II, Scene I._

 _Beat._ Ha! "Put him down," indeed. The fool can bear't.  
And yet, methinks I saw him in a sort  
Of melancholy, ere he spewed his choler  
Against my coming. Yet, for all that,  
The worst he spat at me was "harpy" - I,  
Of all women, know that he can do worse.  
And yet, that worse he has not done, for all  
These years - only that once, and ne'er again.  
Is't possible 'tis his apology?  
No words, but deeds, to never do it more?  
Perhaps his dice were not so false, in sooth,  
He only rolled them wrong. His error seen,  
'Tis possible he made them true again.

 _Exit Beatrice._

* * *

 **Scene III** \- _A Room in Leonato's House._

 _Enter Benedick, after Act IV, Scene I._

 _Bene._ O, slander! Will I never 'scape that word?  
Says she of her cousin, "She is slandered!"  
To me, as good as t'say, "'Need fear no slander,'  
Or have you forgot?" Nay, she must needs know  
That I can ne'er forget. And yet, an she  
Still needs more proof of my repentance, I  
Will give it her. Still, must I fight my friend?  
Yet, how can I do less? For whatsoe'er  
Was Claudio's intent, I know, in faith,  
Good Beatrice speaks truth; her cousin's wronged.  
Right her I must. 'Tis heavy, but 'tis just.

 _Exit Benedick._


End file.
